


Prisoner of War

by pumpkinscript



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Graphic, Graphic Rape/Non-Con, M/M, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-consensual sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22813630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinscript/pseuds/pumpkinscript
Summary: *some of the places/names/etc in this fic aren’t going to be completely accurate or comply with the books/movies*Captured as a prisoner of war, (y/n) is interrogated by Thranduil. His methods haven’t worked on her... up until now when he decides to use a new one.
Relationships: Thranduil (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Prisoner of War

It had been around two months since I had been captured. I laid on the floor, rotting in the cells of Mirkwood, nursing the various injuries I had sustained from being there.

I had been tortured relentlessly. Every week, they were using a new technique. The first few weeks had been mainly threats, but the threats quickly turned to action once Thranduil decided I wasn’t going to give up his enemy’s secrets and comply. I had been kicked, whipped, beaten to a pulp by Thranduil’s guards, and every now and then, even by Thranduil himself. He was always angry when he entered my cell, and he always left frustrated. However, a certain morbid satisfaction from soaking in my screams of agony sat amongst his pristine features. 

Thranduil hadn’t been to my cell in over four weeks straight— only his guards had. They had taken a short break from the physical abuse a month before to try out methods of mental torture, but were soon back to their old ways. I was bruised on every inch of skin I had, and every time I moved, my muscles were lit on fire. One guard had struck me particularly hard across the face with a whip, leaving a long mark across it and blinding me in one eye. 

Today, however, was different. No guards came. I was left in sick anticipation for hours in end, wondering if I was to avoid the daily torturous interviews they had been conducting. It must have been late in the evening when Thranduil entered my cell, looking down at me and surveying my starved body.

“Your face,” he said nonchalantly, “you have been blinded.”

I remained silent, grimacing through a scowl at him.

“It has been almost two months since you have entered my prison,” he drawled. He averted his eyes, instead, staring at the wall adjacent and reassuring me of his place. “Tell me, do you ever tire of being beaten relentlessly? Or does it just run through your blood to crave subjugation?”

“I like seeing your guards agitated, _my lord_,” I spat at him. He still didn’t meet my eyes. “It’s the only thing that keeps me going— the knowledge that I have power over their feeble character.”

“My guards... _feeble._” He looked deep in thought. “And that of my own character?”

“You are a worm,” I said, grinning, “a yellow-bellied snake. How many times since I’ve been here have you come to torture me yourself? Three or four times at most? You’re a _coward_, Thranduil.”

“A coward,” he whispered the word to himself. The corner of his mouth turned and he chuckled. He finally met my harsh gaze. “You have not been, so far, compliant. You have remained sturdy under the fierce interrogations of my guards, and your secrets have stayed secret. I am sure, however, that your leaden tongue can be softened.”

He took a step towards me and tilted his head. 

“You are strong, but you are not immune to being broken,” the king said. “Get up.”

_What is his game?_ I wondered to myself. I stayed put, trying to keep my place as long as possible. I was still in enormous amounts of pain from the day before.

“I said, _get up!_” Thranduil growled and reached down, grabbing my arm and yanking me to my feet. I stumbled, but did not fall over. He spun me about, placing restraints on my wrists before leading me out of the cell.

I hadn’t been out of my cell in so long. Mirkwood would have been a beautiful place, in other circumstances.

“Where are you leading me?” I asked.

“Patience,” he said stiffly. We walked for what felt like miles to me, but I was sure it felt like a longer walk than it was because of the state I was in. 

We eventually entered a large room— almost an inside courtyard of sorts. Plants were sat and hung everywhere, and benches sat around the fountain in the middle of the room. The fountain’s water flowed from the top of a stone statue, which had been carved to look like an elf wearing armour. 

“Do you know who this is?” Thranduil said, letting go of me. He seemingly had enough confidence in himself, even though my hands were cuffed behind my back. “I asked you a question and I expect an answer.”

“No,” I hissed.

“You should,” he said. “This is one of my ancestors— he fought in the great War of Wrath. Though our side had ended up winning, he was captured as a prisoner of war... much like you.”

I scoffed at his comparison, but he pursued.

“He was tortured— almost to death. Every day, a new tool for pain was brought in and used against him. Tools were nothing to him. The fortress of his mind was too strong for them.”

“Impressive,” I mocked him.

“Hmm,” he hummed, the corners of his mouth only slightly upturned, keeping his cool. “Yes. He stayed silent for longer than you will. But, as anyone who is the victim of pain as long as he had been, he cracked. Do you want to know what finally did his restrain in?”

I didn’t answer.

“Sexual torture.”

I must have flinched, because a wide smile spread across Thranduil’s face.

“You see,” he continued, slowly starting to circle me, “I’ve put much thought into you... the nights I’ve spent awake, plotting your treatment for the next week... I’ve lost days of sleep. I was not going to be bested by my prisoner, I thought. So I did my research. I read through our books of sacred history... I found out more about my ancestor than I had known before. You and him are very alike, I think. Your cockiness is somewhat justified, but you aren’t perfect.” 

I stayed still as a board, and kept myself from sucking in a shaky breath as I felt Thranduil’s fingers run through my hair as he walked behind me.

“I think,” he continued, slowly making his way back around to face me, “that since you are so alike, the same method could be applied to you. Do you think that sounds fair?”

I gathered my courage and maintained my front. “Do your worst.”

“Ah... you have too much faith in yourself,” he said quietly, reaching his hand out and caressing my cheek. “I think,” he whispered as he got closer, “that I’ve been going about this all wrong. Your twisted psyche actually gets off on pain... we were closer with mental torture, I think. And since my guards have failed me, I will resort to doing this myself.” He leaned forward and gently kissed my lips. I refused a grimace. “You like pain,” he kissed me the same way again. “You can endure it.” Again. “Sex, however, is so much more than that. It is about pain, yes... to a point. But it is also about emotion... and pleasure. I’ve always had a disposition against emotional romantic encounters. I think you can understand that.” His hand cupped my lower cheek and jaw, across my ear and he kissed me again. He drew back, looking me in the eyes with his piercing blue ones. His thumb stroked my cheek. “I will break you.”

He gripped my chin and opened my mouth, leaning in and sliding his tongue over mine in a passionate kiss. Already, I was feeling the crippling effects of violent anxiety. Tremors went through my body; causing me to shake in Thranduil’s embrace. Try as I did, I could not control it. 

My hands were still cuffed behind my back, and I struggled to get free of them, despite the fact I knew I couldn’t. Thranduil pulled me to the side and past the benches, laying me on the cold stone of the side of the fountain. Since my hands were tied as they were, my back had to arch up significantly so that I would not crush them. Thranduil kneeled above me, one knee pressed next to my hip and his other foot planted on the floor below the fountain, maintaining his balance. He continued to kiss me with ferocity, one of his hands snaking up under the small of my back where my fists were and pulling me up firmly against his torso and hips. Though his trousers were made of thick leather, I could feel the bulge of his crotch. 

I felt like I was going to hyperventilate. How could I, fearless warrior and unyielding captive, be so soft? How could this affect me more than a whip could? Thranduil’s palm left my back and trailed back up to my stomach. He moved his body up a bit so that he could straighten his arm and slip his hand below my waistband. I tried to stop myself, but I sucked in a terrified breath as his fingers slid over the fabric covering my folds.

“Look at you,” he mused, drawing back from my mouth for a moment, “so easily affected... so easily overpowered. You practically gave yourself in to this to keep your pride. Tell me, (y/n)... was it worth it?” He pressed his fingers down hard, painfully stimulating my sex and I gasped loudly. I hadn’t touched that for years. I hadn’t felt the need to... and now it was overly sensitive. 

“Tell me the other side’s strategies,” Thranduil said, still pressing. “What are they planning? Tell me, and I’ll stop.” I whimpered, but didn’t respond, He rubbed the pads of his fingers in circular motions and pressed his lips to my neck, biting my skin there. I writhed underneath him. All I wanted was for it to stop. I could only imagine the looks on the faces of my fellow soldiers if they could see what the King of Mirkwood was doing to me. My face burned with embarrassment when I thought of it, and I tried to push it out of my mind. 

“Tell me,” he growled, moving his fingers up and starting them inside the last bit of fabric separating me from him.

“N- no!” I cried. 

He hissed, plunging two of his fingers inside of me and I screamed. He moved them back and forth, a look of hatred on his face.

“Tell me!” he said loudly.

“No!”

He growled and added a third finger. The tears that I had been holding back left my eyes and poured in waterfalls down my face. Thranduil licked them off the side of my face. I grimaced and cried even harder.

“Oh, if your people could see you now,” he said, as if he had read my mind. “What would they say, (y/n)?” His fingers moved back and forth, and I felt like I was on fire. “What would they call you?”

My mouth opened and closed like a fish’s. I couldn’t even get words out— I couldn’t speak. His fingers were moving easier now, since it was wet. From discharge or blood, I did not know. The pain did not let up, but increased in intensity. The bruises and cuts all over my body hurt, and the ones on my back screamed as they were pushed against the fabric of my shirt against the hard stone.

“Would they call you a hero? For surviving so long? Or would they call you a whore? A whore so easily bent to her king’s desires.” He bit my lip, hard enough to draw a bead of blood, which he sucked on. “Just tell me... tell me what’s going on behind the curtains on your side and I can make all of this go away.”

For the first time, I considered telling him. 

No! How could I be so weak? So pathetic? I must stand my ground.

Thranduil withdrew his fingers and took them from my pants. They were shining with a clear liquid, but splotched with bits of blood. He inhaled the scent he had drawn from me and wiped his hand on my shirt, putting his hand on my breast and squeezing as he did. He pulled me up suddenly and kicked me to the ground. I hit my head on the tile around the water fountain and I could feel blood dripping down my forehead. I slowed my tears down as much as possible before he pushed my frail body with his boot against the side of the fountain. He started undoing the ties on his trousers as he did. I was too weak to try and run... and he knew it. He took his boot off my stomach and stood a foot from where I sat, making quick work of his trousers and slipping the front of them down. Clearly he wasn’t a fan of undressing completely— we were still both, for the most part, completely dressed.

He took himself into his hand and used the remaining slime on his fingers as a slickening agent. My god, he was equipped. 

He reached forward and ran his other hand through my hair, grabbing a fistful of it and wrapping it around his knuckles. “Tell me,” he said.

“N-no.”

Thranduil sighed. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said, before forcing my mouth open and thrusting. I gagged as his cock hit the back of my throat. Bile rose in my aesophagus, but I pushed it down. 

Thranduil moaned as he pushed in and out of my mouth. Each time, he hit the back of my throat, and each time, the threat of throwing up doubled. 

With every thrust, I gagged a bit more. Finally, I made as much sound as possible and threw my shoulders about, hoping the message would get across. He drew back and I fell to the side, spitting up clear bile.

Thranduil was on me in a second, throwing me to the side and climbing on top of me. 

“You have made it this far,” he said, “but I do not see you making it through the rest quite so easily. Tell me right now and I’ll spare you.”

I started crying again as I laid on my back. I slowly shook my head.

“So be it,” Theanduil scowled. He undid the tie on my pants and pushed them down. They were wet and stained with discharge and blood. He kissed my lips softly like he had the first time and positioned himself. He gritted his teeth as he pushed in, letting out a moan. I clawed at the floor behind my back, my mouth open. No sound left my lips. White hot pain shot from my sex to my eyes and I found it hard to see out of the one that still worked. 

Thranduil breathed heavily, moaning gutturally after every few thrusts. 

“Tell me,” he hissed.

I cried out as he pushed in further. He still wasn’t completely shafted. 

Thranduil pulled out a bit, thrusting forward with all his might and groaned loudly. A blood-curdling scream ripped itself from my throat and I broke.

“I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!”

The grin that he wore made me sick. I could barely speak, but he pulled out as promised.

“Speak.”

I told him about everything. About our war strategies, our generals, our weapons... I had never felt such defeat in my life. I had never been so disgusted with myself before.

“Is that it?” he asked after ten minutes of dialogue.

“Yes,” I promised.

“Hmm,” his eyebrows pursed in thought. He was still above me, propped up on his elbows. 

“Can I go now?” I pleaded with him.

“Of course,” he said. “I promised, didn’t I?”

I was returned to my cell that night in more pain than I knew was possible. I would stay here and rot in this cell until the day I died.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find my works on my Wattpad account @pumpkinscript


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